the man in the middle

“silent spine of a screaming world”

born not in squalor, nor in gold,
but in that grey where dreams decay –
a nameless cog, a tale untold,
he cried, then wiped his tears away.

no toys adorned his birthday floor,
no sweets in schoolbag wrapped in lace.
just second-hand and something more –
the silence of a missing place.

to school he marched in worn-out shoes,
his ink a patchwork of spilled grace.
while friends wore brands he couldn’t choose,
he learnt to smile with half a face.

each grade a war, each pen a fight –
to claim a desk, defend a dream.
he argued for the fees each night,
as whispers mocked his public scheme.

in college too, the battle stayed –
a battlefield of hidden cost.
he swallowed pride each time he paid
by skipping food for dreams near lost.

he clung to bus rails, bruised and bent,
while others zoomed past him in style.
his notebooks held the rent he spent,
his laughter absent all the while.

then came the job -a suit, a name,
a number in a payroll sheet.
the world now bowed, but just the same,
he bore the burn beneath his feet.

parents aged like wilting leaves,
and so he stood, their sun and shade.
he bought them time, he patched old eaves –
with every debt, a promise made.

a bride was found through quiet ties,
a homemaker, as norms would want.
their vows were made beneath the guise
of love that knew not how to daunt.

she bore the rules, he bore the weight –
the house, the bills, the social thread.
though equal souls by destined fate,
he led while dreaming he was led.

their children bloomed in newer air,
with schools that swallowed half his pay.
he trimmed his wants, reduced his share –
so theirs could never fade away.

they learnt with tabs, he learnt with tears.
their books imported, his were torn.
he smiled and shelved his hidden years,
for they were dreams he never wore

he watched their world expand and shine,
while his shrunk inward, room by room.
yet never once did he repine,
he fed their stars, embraced his gloom.

a hundred wants, a thousand nights –
he bore them all without a sound.
while they took off in fearless flights,
he stood his ground, not making ground.

old age arrived without a song,
just aching joints and silent days.
the house grew full, the nights grew long –
yet no one saw his muted gaze.

he sat in rooms he built with pain,
their laughter echoing past his ear.
a shadow fading in the frame,
a name that now just disappeared.

and when the final moment came,
no curtain call, no poet’s line.
just nurses whispering his name,
and machines mapping his decline.

he shed a tear that none could see,
a truth no legacy could deny.
he smiled and whispered silently –
“at least they’ll never see me cry.”